The Man in the Memoir
by Noeme
Summary: Carla Donovan suffered a traumatic experience years ago. Only now starting to recover with the publication of a Memoir, she gains a fan in a woman named Maria Sutherland who in particular is intrigued with the romantic interest in the novel. Worlds of fiction and fact collide with dramatic consequences as Maria discovers her fiance Liam & the man in memoir may be one in the same.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I started another story. This one is not a period piece but as per usual it is an alternate universe. I just had this idea for a Liarla love story for quite some months and decided to finally pump out a chapter. Thank you for reading and I hope you all enjoy.**

* * *

Liam Connor was running late on this particular evening in question which was something he had promised his fiancée he would be careful not to do. As he flagged down a New York City taxi in the horrible traffic, exhausted beyond all belief and recognition, Liam only had sleep on the mind. These last few days on business in New York had been physically if not mentally grueling. He had just secured contracts for his Factory in Manchester that would out sourcing work to other countries and with American interest in his new ambitious company "Lad Rag's", Liam felt he was finally moving on up in the world.

Having met the perfect woman in Maria Sutherland only help matters and Liam felt ready to settle down or so he liked to tell himself. On paper Maria was everything a man could hope for, she was beautiful, loving and kind. She always keep their shared apartment organized and cooked the most amazing meals. She also took on all the planning for their upcoming nuptials without a single fuss. Liam found himself completely taking in by if not impressed at the things Maria would endure for the sake love. She helped him come to the realization that sometimes you just do things for another person, things you don't really want to, simply because you care. Maria knew how much it meant to him that she suffered through painful gatherings with his overbearing mother, how sometimes she forced herself to smile until it hurt when Helen Connor said the most insensitive of things.

Like for example, his mother would constantly grate on Maria's psyche and fragile state rubbing it in that Maria wouldn't be able to have any children. The couple had only just found this news out a month ago and his mother Helen may sure to never let them forget it, not like they could if they wanted to anyways. Still despite all of this unnecessary drama, Maria was nice to the people that cared about him, liking people on their own merits; she regarded his sister and mother as stand alones and not as extensions of Liam himself. Maria seemed to realized that in caring for another person you don't just focus on loving them alone, you try to be nice to the people they care about as well.

All of this made Liam feel guilty because he wasn't so sure the extent of his feelings for Maria would ever reach that point yet or ever when it came to selfless love. He rarely made an effort with her brother Kirk as it was and when he did, Liam only harbored annoyance and resentment for having to endure the situation at all. There was no fun in resentment and Liam didn't do it on purpose. Liam just knew in his heart that there was only one girl in the world he would have gone through anything for and her name definitely wasn't Maria Sutherland.

It was so long ago, but to even think about Carla Donovan could still rip his heart in two, the wounds so fresh it felt like it had only been yesterday since she shut out completely and without any explanation. He thought about the fragility of glass and how when broken into bits it could tear into one's skin and get caught in it. Carla was glass to him, constantly grating at his memories and tearing him apart, yet he couldn't logde her out. Yet in spite of this, Liam still kept old letters from Carla and kicked himself for being so bloody damn transparent. She was the one that got away. For years he secretly compared every girl he dated to Carla in everyway possible. Finally it got to the point were things were too painful and the reasons for breaking up so ridiculous that the only solution was to switch his train of thought. So Liam sought out to find someone who would be Carla's antithesis, her exact opposite in every way so he could convince himself she wasn't what he needed to feel alive. Gold had been struck when Liam happened upon Maria, his Maria that so perfect and loved him so much and yet he didn't love enough. This lack of equal love was precisely the reason why he was driving around New York city at this time in the evening; jumping through hoops just to prove his willingness to endure unpleasant things in the name of love as well.

Liam's cellphone vibrated and he quickly retrieved it from his suit jacket surprised Maria was calling him at this hour. It was after 12:00 am, Manchester time. He was a bit annoyed that she couldn't even trust him to do this one thing without checking up. Unlocking his phone, Liam took a deep breath before answering, "Hello darling, what are still doing up at this hour?"

"Have you gotten to the book signing yet?" says Maria completely ignoring his friendliness and getting straight to the point. She sounded anything but tired and if Liam knew Maria correctly, she would probably be up until all hours of the night wishing she had been the one in New York at the signing instead.

"I'm on my way right now," says Liam glancing quickly at his watch. He was running late as the book reception had started at 6:30 pm and he was held up in New York traffic the time now at just near 7:00 pm. In his opinion the time wasn't all that bad, he probably wouldn't miss much and Maria just needed to stop worrying, "I only just got out of my meeting at the restaurant near 6 o' clock anyways."

"But you knew this was important to me!" screeches Maria on the other end completely inconsiderate and lacking her usual manners to even ask how successful his deal had went, "You knew about this event months in advance. You knew the book signing would be tonight Liam!"

"I know, I know," Liam sighs he can feel another pounding headache coming on and is in no condition to be arguing with his fiancée right now. He just wanted to get in there and out and be done with it so he could back to his hotel for some much needed sleep and break from all his troubling thoughts, "Look I'm sorry—"

"—Just tell me you have my own personal copy of the memoir with you," disappointment was ringing through Maria's end of the phone, "Just tell me you have a copy of the memoir. I put it in your suitcase and just want a personal autograph—"

"Hold on," Liam frantically grabbing for his work case unplucking the strap and pulling out his papers. He couldn't remember for certain if he had actually grabbed the book when leaving the hotel this morning since so many other things were going on in his mind.

"Liam please tell me it isn't still in the hotel room?!"

"No!" says Liam getting excited as he pulls the book out from under all his work papers. The taxi driver shot him an amused look clearly having heard Maria's screeching which Liam quickly returned before speaking back into the phone, "I found it." It was perfect timing because the taxi slowly pulled up to the venue, "I've just made it to the place now Maria."

"Good," utters Maria relieved on the other end, "This book means so much to me Liam. Ever since we found that I might not be able to have any babies—and I know how important grandchildren are to Helen-"

"Stop," Liam interrupts her. The last thing he wants to think about is that issue especially with everything else going on that is putting a strain on their relationship. Maria for all her perfectness didn't need to make things worse by constantly digging at fresh wounds. Liam had his mother for that and she was quite enough since the woman had made remarks against adoption as well killing that possibility for Maria within seconds, "Don't talk about that right now, please."

"But I have to Liam," her voice is now shaking on the other end and Liam feels so horribly for having shut Maria down so cooly. But couldn't she just understand he didn't want to talk about it? "This book…it really speaks to me. I feel like the author truly gets it. Her life struggles…they could be my own, they could be anyone of my friends... and then the three miscarriages before there was light at the end of the tunnel..."

He droned her out for a moment simply willing his mind to think about anything else but this. Despite his pure exhaustion Liam just wanted to focus on the positive because so many positive things had happened for him today. It simply didn't make sense why she had to go and do this whole crying thing now. Liam was in pain too and sometimes he wished she would consider this fact before she started making him feel like a failure. Liam was in a trance, holding his hand up in a signal for the taxi driver to wait a few seconds as he retrieved his fare. Handing it over and waiting for change he picked up the book, which had been sitting, in his lap. He acknowledged that it was a memoir, apparently a very popular one as of late since it was gaining momentum in the press. Liam hadn't paid attention to any of the hype himself. However last month Maria's book club decided to read it and she wouldn't shut about the damn thing since. First impressions; it was just a generic black cover with the title placed in the middle. It seemed ineffective in his opinion, that the author's pretentious need to make it appear plain fell somewhat flat. It certainly wouldn't catch his eye in the bookstore assuming he wanted to read sob stories about other peoples lives, which Liam didn't.

However he'd give credit where credit was due. The dedication on the inside cover was somewhat insightful:

"_In order to move on, you must understand why you felt what you did and why no longer need to feel it." _

That's as far as Liam would go in terms of compliments , seeing as the night be spent listening to excerpts about sob stories just to get a damn signature. This was not appealing in the slightest and not at all how he wanted to celebrate his success with the factory contracts. He'd bet that whomever she was, the author would turn out to be a hack. She'd be feeding off the minds and wallets of impressionable housewives who had nothing better to do with their boring lives. From a business perspective it was admirable but from a personal; Liam just didn't understand why some people couldn't keep certain chapters of their lives closed. He had done that with Carla, everyone did with some aspect of their own lives. That's what made experiences more special if not sacred.

"Look," he says shoving his change back into his pocket, "I'm about to go in so I'll talk to you later Maria, love. Oh and I'll get your silly little autograph too darling—"

He shot out of that taxi like a bat out of hell clutching the book and work bag as he ran up the steps and through the doors. He had the invitation, the 'A Night With' for this particular author. Reading the room number and floor level carefully, Liam managed to hound down a nearly closing elevator and shoot to the top of the building. Practically out of breath and out of his element once venturing into the lecture hall, Liam was relieved that at ten minutes after eight o' clock the actual reading hadn't started yet. He found a seat somewhere in the middle, apologizing every two seconds at the impossible task of not hitting someone somehow with his workbag. He breathed a sigh of relief once he found a place in the middle of the row, looking around distracted by the surroundings and fellow attendees. Home time was not far from his mind as the lights dimmed in the theatre and the sound of chattering voices quickly lessened.

Soon all eyes were on the author who just taking center stage.

* * *

Carla Connor took a deep breath in the amphitheater as she walked out center stage into the light. So many people had came tonight, intrigued and eager to here about her experience and personal troubles. It was all rather perplexing given what she had once suffered growing up with neglectful mother, a wayward brother and countless other people who just walked in and out of Carla's life like she hadn't mattered. If someone were tell her then that there were people out there who actually cared about Carla's opinions and all she had endured; Carla wouldn't have believed it. She had such a hard time accepting that all these 'fans' so to speak even noticed her, when her mother had ingrained in her mind so long ago that no one would ever notice or even care.

The palms of her hands were sweaty and her legs wobbly as Carla made her way to the podium. An unopened bottle of water lay off just to her left, which she looked upon gratefully as sign her agent was finally learning his job. Her agent just so happened to be her husband and like clockwork she peaked her shoulder glancing at all 6 feet of his gorgeous frame. Paul was peaking his head from behind the red curtain giving her an approving nod. She returns the warm gesture, speaking wordlessly through her eyes of how much he was her strength and she loved him. Tearing her green eyes away she looked out once again into the crowd adjusting the microphone on the podium, Carla began to speak.

"Good evening everyone and thank you for coming," The crowd clapped, some beaming and others, reporters from various news outlets taking notes. Carla still felt so nervous. This work, this memoir she had written was very personal and as therapeutic and helpful it had been to write; sometimes speaking it, all the words she had written down could be somewhat difficult. It gave the whole situation more reality, a confirmation of sorts that these horrible and heartbreaking things had actually happened to her amongst the various new blessings now granted upon her life. Her followers were depending on her and she owed it to them because her suffering was their strength. Carla was a testimony to the fact that if one kept on fighting they could get some the happiness they deserved. If she could save just one other woman or young girl out there from making the same mistakes she had, then it was worth it. So Carla found her strength and repeated, "Thank you for coming this evening."

" No, thank you!" someone shouted and others followed warming up and breaking the formalness of the setting immediately.

This helped Carla almost immediately as she began to relax and gain her footing. She looked to the crowd like they were her personal friends because in a way they were. She had shared some of the most intimate, raw moments of her life in this memoir with them. It would not make sense to speak to them in any other way. They felt like they knew Carla and shared a special bond. And even though Carla would never know a lot of them personally it was important to convey that she loved each and everyone of them the way every human being deserves a basic love. Her eyes roamed over the speech Paul had helped her write, "This Memoir saved me in everyway that I needed saving. As you all know from these pages, I suffered a miscarriage. I had been happily married for two years when that first miscarriage occurred followed by a second and then a third. I thought God was somehow punishing me for a past I didn't necessarily have any control over. My husband Paul, who has been my rock, helped me to realize that it wasn't my fault what had happened before in my hard life. He made me feel comfortable enough to talk about my past and take the stress off of myself which is how this book came about. Now we have a child today and I feel it is because I was finally to stop blaming myself and forgive others for the wrongs committed in my past."

The theatre clapped again and Carla once more felt a surge of confidence race through her body. Her voice became more powerful and emotive, "I start the beginning of my memoir with a quote: _' __**In order to move on, you must understand why you felt what you did and why no longer need to feel it.'**_, it's a very important quote to me because in writing this book I began to realize that the process was both good and bad. The good part was finally being able to accept that when I was a young girl I got pregnant and gave the baby up not because I wanted to, but because I had to give it a chance at a better life. I shouldn't have to feel that horribleness forever for having done a genuinely good thing."

"What's the bad part?" shouts an audience member.

"The bad part is that as writer it's my responsibility to delve into these subjects which make me uncomfortable and write about them. By subjects I don't only mean events but also the people referred to in this work. I talk a lot about a boy who was a very big part of my life back then. The parts about him, about baby we shared…nothing makes me more uncomfortable. And although I say stuff and it gives insight into what the experience was at the time, it doesn't necessarily reflect the way I feel about this person now," Carla glanced back at Paul making sure this point stuck with her husband. She told herself she no longer loved this other boy the way she referred to him in those specific passages, "It's just reflection of a time when I was in those moments and how I felt going through the motions. Everything that happened with this person is something that I will always value. They were an important part of my life and to deny that would be foolish. Now, I'm only saying this all because the press has been relentless in their pursuit of finding out whom exactly the man in the memoir may actually be. I want to set it straight once and for all that under no circumstances will I ever reveal his identity. I've moved on in my life and into maturity and want to take these experiences with me as memories not my reality. They belong to a past history, a history I truly appreciate but one that's belongs to another time now. So with that said, I'd like to get to the first excerpt of the evening…"

Carla slowly opened her memoir turning to the book marked page, knowing full well that everything she just said about the boy as much as her brain believed it to be true her heart knew it to be a lie, a full on contradiction of her real feelings. She couldn't say that these were the feelings she had for her first love at al nowl, that he was somehow just left in the past because she was her past. Paul wanted her to the sell the book; whether intentional or not in a way that would make him more comfortable about this romantic pas. Carla wanted it to be true as well because it looked so good on paper, made her appear stronger than she actually was. Things had been left so opened ended with the boy and with the secret pregnancy and adoption, plus the way she had completely shut him out. The pain in this book over giving up her first love and their child was definitely at many moments a true testimony to how she still felt. Yet Carla put a smile, a different face and lied to the whole world.

"…_I thought I was going to die, that's how painful the cramps were. I had awakened to a feeling like someone had just taking a thousands knives to my stomach penetrating it over and over. In all the bleary-eyed anguish of my tears, I looked to see that night my gown was practically red and the sheets completely soaked through. The baby was coming and I started to cry, like really cry so hard that the sound was taking all the life out of me. I was upset because the baby was much too early and I much too young. This whole situation was just unfair..._

_My mother and __**his **__mother were forcing me to do this all on my own. They wouldn't even let him learn about the baby's existence. I don't remember much of what had happened in that girls home next were I gave birth. But I do remember that after it was all over…they wouldn't even allow me to hold her. The nurses, the nuns, no one let me see her. But the nurse was cold as my mum and said I must forget I ever had a daughter, that I couldn't miss something that I had never been mine to begin with._

_I thought, "How sick is that?" How sick that I couldn't even hold her or know her name. It wasn't fair that I couldn't even be allowed to love her. But then I felt even worse, because how sick was it that he would never even know of his own daughter's birth, of our only daughter's existence? In that particular moment I couldn't decide which fate was worse…"_

Carla quickly looked up at the silent Amphitheatre holding back tears remembering the rawness of that moment. No one could tell her that this wasn't how she felt, like her insides were tearing up fresh as ever from being separated from her little daughter. Carla didn't even have name on which to go by, not for the baby and now not for him. It was the only way to disassociate herself from the pain of that heart wrenching experience. That's why two of the most important people in her life remained nameless. It is why Liam Connor, her first kiss, her first heartbreak, her first everything was simply just **the man in the memoir.**

* * *

"_**How sick is that?" How sick that I couldn't even hold her or know her name. But then I felt even worse, because how sick was it that he would never even know of his own daughter's birth... our only daughter's existence? In that particular moment I couldn't decide which fate was worse…"**_

Liam was rigid, rigid as he had been from the first moment he realized whom this author was. Many things were going through head, like why hadn't he got up left the moment the lights dimned and she spoke and he knew he would recognize that voice anywhere. Why couldn't he just move and remove himself from all the fresh memories? And when she spoke of a husband and a baby and Liam then felt misplaced and unwarranted jealousy that it wasn't him who was those things to her, why not leave then? No, he just became like puddy, unable to process that his Carla Donovan was actually in front of them. That his fiancée Maria would then want an autograph. He felt stunned like a zombie at the thought of these two worlds quickly colliding and so publicly. There was regret that he thought of her as hack earlier, Carla was not a hack author at all. All he ever thought her as was the girl he had so innocently loved all those years ago. And then she asked that question, read that passage, that passage that now everyone was shedding tears over. The audience were setting up little narratives in their heads just contemplating how that boy should feel, how he would feel. But Liam sat their in complete silence, his blue eyes fixed in stunned surprise and anguish on her alone. No matter how much these people tried, he was the only one in the room who knew the answer, who could possibly answer that question.

How could she? How she have kept this from him...a child? He had a child, it had to be his child because who else's could it have been? Over and over he repeated in his mind how she had had his baby and then gave it away and nothing else matter in that particular moment but this horrible betrayal. Liam had thought how he would never know her reasons for shutting him out after years of coming up with his own silly explantations. Now each and everyone of those silly reasons was better than the actual truth. It was then that moment that Liam knew the loss was so great he wouldn't ever be able to speak of it.

"…_**In that particular moment I couldn't decide which fate was worse…"**_

Liam could, his fate he decided had been much worse.


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is dedicated to 'LongLiveLiarla' who I promised an update to about a month ago. Thank you to her and for everyone who asked for being so patient with me. Also thank you for all the kind reviews received for the first chapter :) **

****** Warning that this chapter brings up sensitive issues to do with eating disorders so proceed with caution. **

* * *

He was trying to understand what had happened to her. In all they years they had known one another, Paul had never not ever once seen Carla's eyes light up and shine the way they did when she talked about the Man in the Memoir. Her voice even changed a bit, it went half an octave higher, flighty to the point that it seemed she was that fifteen-year-old girl falling in love for the first time all over again. And it was through these things that he chose to read her.

What else he read…the way she rushed from the car service, her legs trembling step-by-step struggling not to give way as they entered into the hotel. The movements in her hand, they were peculiar, she looked apprehensive almost afraid about pressing the elevator buttons, giving them a quick jab before withdrawing her fingers in relief. The stifling silence following soon afterwards down that short distance to the actual suite, which once entering Carla unleashed upon her surrounding throwing off garments like she had been some trapped prisoner all evening and rushing towards the direction of the bathroom in a frenzy. Paul struggled to do away with these readings or signs he knew so well and could not let go unacknowledged.

There were a few moments where he feign success before the eventual dread took over. Unsure of what to do with himself he stood around nervously before walking into the kitchenette area intent on making his hands busy. Cooking sometimes soothed him and he set out on the task of preparing them both a decent late night meal. Forcing his hand on the handle, Paul pulled the fridge door open, his blue eyes racing over its various contents and sizing everything up. Finding new ways in which to torture his sanity, Paul questioned the texture of each vegetable pulled out as well as the heaviness of the chicken and edibility of the rice left over from a few days earlier before grimacing and placing all parts of the meal out onto the counter. He had to remember to be very careful with food choices where Carla was concerned.

Hearing the music at first starting off slowly, sent Paul into a bit of tizzy; causing him to flounder a bit, straining his ears in a panic just to be certain. As it gradually built up in tempo with each passing second, he dropped the vegetables he was then rinsing into the sink. As he stole a worried glance over his shoulder in the direction of the bathroom, the spell of denial was over…**the behavior was back again.** Paul was almost contemplating marching down the hallway and ramming his knuckles on the bathroom door to scare her out of it. Instead he went the route of cowardice spinning around in haste on onset anger, going for the passive aggressive route throwing open the fridge door.

His blue eyes shun in triumph as Paul spotted the apple pie one of the staff had brought around after purchasing from the farmers market earlier in the week. Slamming the the pie down on the counter glaring at it for a few moments Paul's mind raced with stress and resentment flinging open a drawer pulling out a knife. He was so frustrated as he began cutting into the pie but quelled his anger by cutting small and deliberate pieces in a manner most soothing. Thoughts about the past year began to overtake him. Paul had tried so damn hard to be the husband Carla needed, to love her and try accommodating her every need, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough…not for her. He wasn't that stupid boy in the Memoir. There was no possible way to compete with the perfect man who remained timeless and untainted in his wife's mind.

Carla had betrayed him in so many ways and all of her loyal fans never heard those sort of stories though. They never heard how after the second miscarriage she had completely shut him out. How she had accused him of cheating because she was so damn paranoid; the grueling sessions they had to go through when she wouldn't even open up. And the blame had been put on him…

"…_Now do you want to remember it or do you want to forget? Your marriage depends on it…"_

Paul laughed cruelly now just thinking about it. What he would give to throw all the copies of that bloody Memoir into a bonfire now and forget he ever read a word. Writing it was supposed to be about healing and moving on, or that's what Carla claimed. But that didn't change the fact that Paul found the memoir to be a completely polarizing experience, that if he choice to go back in time he would not endure having to even so much as skim the pages ever again. Fresh in his mind still were the first drafts transcribed in messy ballpoint pens and little anecdotes on the computer, which Carla had him look over and give opinions on from time to time.

Those little ramblings were telling. Carla had a habit of trying to hide behind her feelings in pain sight where in Paul would then have to seek things out instead of getting the answers straight from her mouth. In the jumble of words hidden amongst simple impressionable teenaged thoughts wasn't a story about moving on it was story about being stuck in the past. That's how Paul felt when he read it, he felt stuck along with that fifteen/ sixteen-year-old Carla, trapped like her words now clung to the pages and he wanted to get every word and image out his head. The passages were Carla's way of telling the truth, a truth that couldn't be said out loud. He had been asking all the wrong questions because this wasn't about 'what' had happened to her it was only ever about 'who'. And aside from her mother and everyone else in the world that seemed to hurt her, the hurt that mattered most was all about that boy. The Memoir hadn't truly done any healing like he had hoped it would. It still somehow kept Carla trapped under the illusion of freedom but in Paul's opinion people were there secrets more than anything and she was completely trapped by some of those things in the Memoir. The lines that existed between fiction and life were very close. But there came a time when she would have to choose between the two because he was tired of being regulated to something pretend while the man, the memory of a boy slowly took over all of Carla's reality.

* * *

The music was just a smoke screen, albeit a poorly devised one because Paul had figured out almost all of her tricks years ago. From the iPod jack one of the staff placed on top the bathroom counter, a trail of songs played to thinly veiled ears behind her as Carla emptied out the final contents of her stomach before that familiar feeling of relief rushed over her. There had been a few moments in the day where Carla felt out of control and she knew she had promised Paul she wouldn't and she knew it was bad, but she couldn't help the patterns, it was just something that had to be done.

Things had been teetering on the fence all day. The press obligations were bearable though and the meet and greets were heartwarming. Carla felt suddenly she could free herself of this pain inside, that this condition could be controlled when fans approached after the reading tonight and told Carla how much the book had changed them and they couldn't have survived the hurt without her words reminding them they could make it through. It had been so nice to hold Paul's hand and stand for a few pictures. She glowed when people showered him with compliments because it warmed her heart to see him so happy. Most of the people managed to say things to him she herself could never find the words to. Essentially she was more grateful to Paul than anyone in the world and she wished he knew just how important he was in so many different ways. It had so much to do with him that Carla was now here with a successful memoir today. He had given up his own career to be her PR Agent, but that was only the beginning of Paul's sacrifices for Carla's betterment.

The events of the evening would take a turn for the worst and she would pushed to the ledge when an assistant pulled aside after a picture handing their mobile insisting that she had an important call. Carla thought nothing of it grabbing the mobile at once and asking not a single question as she walked away from Paul and the crowd towards a more quiet area before speaking into the phone…

"_Hello?" Carla said in a bubbly fashioning she was such a high giving a quick wave and winking at Paul as he posed for a photo with a little old lady. He looked so gorgeous and so dapper, she smiled halfway before noticing a gentle breathing on the other end. The person still hadn't answered so she repeated again figuring they hadn't heard her the first time around, "Hello?"_

"_Carla?" the voice on the other end finally answered after a few moments._

_Her heart did something strange; it sunk halfway down before raising in a panic immediately which was confusing and not good for her psyche when she needed to start over. Carla's throat went dry and she had problems formulating a response when she was tongue tied and practically under his spell with poor judgment like in the old days. Finally she managed to respond rather weakly, "Sorry, she's not here. You have the wrong—"_

"—_I know your voice Carla," the interruption sent shivers down her spine and it that wasn't enough, it oozed of seduction sending her places she'd rather not remember if she knew what was good for her and her marriage, "I'd know that voice anywhere. Talk to me…"_

_She took a deep breath and big swallow hissing into the phone, "I told you not to call me. How did you get this number?" Carla demanded panicking at the thought of her whole world coming down if he insisted on continuing this behavior._

"_Did you get my gift?" he said rather cockily into his end. He was able to pick up on her breathlessness and could sense the fact that she was blushing or felt ashamed._

_Carla was getting incensed. Why was he bothering her now? She didn't know what gifts he was taking about nor did she like his constant games. "Leave me alone," Carla managed through clenched teeth, "We were a mistake. I love Paul and it will always be Paul. So leave me the hell alone."_

_There was a moment where Carla thought the message had finally gotten through and that maybe he had hung up because things had gotten rather silent. When he spoke again however his voice was one a mixture of venom and hurt._

"_Careful now," he whispered, "I may have to make a few calls to the media outlets with that mouth on you. I hear that everyone is dying to know about the identity 'Man in the Memoir'…might just have to give a few interviews saying it's me."_

"_You're pathetic!" Carla was about the rage, " You wouldn't dare! That's absolute lies—"_

"—_But they don't know that."_

_The lengths he would go through to hurt her nowadays was despicable. She had trusted him so much at one time. Especially when Paul had went off on his lonesome leaving her to deal with pain and lingering thoughts of paranoia all alone. She had felt something close to love during that period but now all she felt was hate. Carla almost yelled into the phone, "I hate you and disgust me. Do you hear me, I hate you!"_

"_Then why," he whispered in a way that she could just picture his smirk, "Why hold onto the call for so long? Just hang up—"_

_She hung up immediately. Anger, panic, and stress took over as she felt she couldn't breath. Carla had been on the ledge all day but now this call, hearing his voice was all it took to push her over the edge and there was no coming back…_

She was thinking, reasoning with herself why she had to do it, Carla was manipulating so many people. All those fans that lined up and clamored around just to meet her, telling her all this stuff about how she was an inspiration and so strong, it almost made her want to laugh because what did they know. They didn't know a thing about her secrets outside of what Carla wanted them to know. The media was still intent on hounding her in a relentless pursuit for the identity Man in the Memoir. It wasn't enough for them to read his name as 'Lucas' in the pages, the people just wanted more and more and Carla was not about to sign away every last bit of herself to these vultures. Liam was hers and her memories of him in the truest form belong to her alone, she would never share his identity, she had promised herself that when she started formulating the first drafts. Not even Paul knew the identity and she wanted to keep it that way, only now things were getting impossible to hide. With threats from past indiscretions threatening to go to the media in light of her success and spread outlandish lies; Carla didn't know what to do. There was a very real chance that_** he**_ would do it. Paul was her husband and PR/ Book Agent; he was supposed to squash any negative press. But Carla was in a conundrum of sorts. She couldn't exactly get Paul to squash anything when she was unwilling to reveal things, which could ruin their marriage. She was losing depth and footing with everything. She was losing control of what this Memoir was supposed to mean.

Flushing the toilet she turned on the bathroom sink faucet running her fingers under the water for a few seconds before scooping up a handful and pressing it to her mouth to rinse the aftertaste away. Right now her main concern was how to keep this feeling of control going. How long could she put off coming out the bathroom and still have enough control that once she rejoined Paul she could easily combat his accusatory stares and deny, deny, deny with a convincing amount of innocence. If she could make him feel silly or a bit out of place for even thinking that…the thing, which they both knew to be true; it would be a successful evening.

It was a somewhat selfish thing to do, but he would never understand all her reasons. He would never understand how powerless she felt, how this was about trying to stop bad things happening. Bad things in her experience only happened when she did not have control. If she had had control over whether to part with her baby or whether to be with Liam then bad things wouldn't have happened; she wouldn't have lost both as a result. She had been too trusting when she let her mother and Helen have all the control and she swore never to let herself get to vulnerability at such a state caused by any other hand that wasn't her own. No one could get to Carla and hurt her unless she let them. So she tried to condition the pain, build up her immunity and become numb. And it really hurt less and less each time she did it; Carla didn't even have to cry anymore.

Still she felt like a fraud lying to all those women about how she didn't even love Liam in all those intimate ways anymore. How could she not, when in so many ways she felt stuck at that same age emotionally stunted in the same era that she first met him? Carla didn't know anything about the person Liam was now. She didn't know what he liked or disliked, if he was married, had children. Maybe to him, she was just some memory now of a good fun and exciting time, a lesson in growing up...something belonging to the past. That was another reason why she did what she did, because it made her feel physically ill, because the love she felt for him was still so strong and so great that it broke her heart to know that he could somehow love others now. The way it sunk her stomach, making her feel bloated and like she had to empty the feeling out because it was ridiculous and shameful when she herself had moved on and married Paul. So then she'd want to fill that hole where shame exists, filling it up with whatever she could get her hands on. Carla found herself in a tug of war with food constantly staring at plates in front of her in shambles about what to do, whether to shove it all down when she was only going to expel it again.

In the car service home after the 'A Night With' and autograph signing Carla had been on fragile ground. It was then that Paul decided to spring on her that he had cleared the next two weeks of the scheduled book tour without consulting her so that they could go home to England and be with their daughter Mia. The thought of seeing Mia was nice but it was like Paul decided everything and that everything in the world was about him and what he wanted. Sometimes she still felt like some child, still stuck at fifteen, unable and unwilling to control whom the hell she wanted to love and having no choice over the baby she wanted so desperately to keep. None of this was about the body image in her mind; it was about balance when things in life and everyone in it tried to decide everything for her. She could control the food...

Walking away from the bathroom and down the hallway Carla's confidence built up with every passing step and she felt somewhat confident in her ability to trick Paul as a disingenuous smile formed across her lips. It reached the point of overconfidence as she glided walking on air only to be brought to a steady halt as she spotted an elaborate bouquet of roses, blood red resting up top the counter in the kitchenette.

"_**Did you get my gift?"**_

The blood drained from her already paling and exhausted face. Paul who was standing around gingerly enjoying a bowl of ice cream with some apple pie glanced up at her in a look of surprise. His blue eyes roaming over her whole body, trying to retrieve her thoughts and gauge her present feelings, whilst trying convey he hadn't any clue what she had just done in the bathroom. Paul wasn't fooling anyone.

"You came out just in time," Paul said gripping his dessert with one hand while holding a spoon in the other. He motioned towards another plate on the counter which Carla hadn't even seeing in the wake of those gorgeous flowers, "I put together some dessert."

Carla glanced down at the bowl, her eyes trickled over the melting ice cream, slathered against bits of apple pie soaking it up and making her queasy. It looked like chunks and mush from all the time it had been out waiting for her on the counter. What was she to do? This was a test, if she said no thanks to eating Carla could still be in control. But something inside of her was struggling halfway between wanting to shove it all down her mouth and make disappear or just throwing it away after limiting herself to a few complimentary nibbles. She was frozen at first but quickly snapped out of it walking towards the bowl and picking up the spoon waiting next to it. It felt like lead on her hand.

"Thank you for the flowers?" Carla mustered glancing between Paul and the flowers. It was a leading question as she was certain he likely didn't send them. Paul would have given her them in person. Dreading his response but hoping it was enough of deterrence she quickly placed the spoon down unable to look away from the bowl in front of her. The pie just seemed like a chunky mountain impossible to overcome and devour.

"They're not from me," Paul remarked, "The door man sent them up while I was putting together dessert and you were still in the bathroom.

Carla's heart sunk as she pried her eyes away from the bowl in a state of absolute chaos. This could not be happening right now. She placed the palms of her hands on the counter placing one over the other in a state of distress, "Who are they from then?" she managed faintly knowing full well the answer. Carla had wanted so badly for it to be all lies about the gift sent earlier in the conversation on the phone.

"Didn't say…no card or anything but the floral delivery insisted apparently that it's meant for you. Perhaps it's a fan? A secret admirer, maybe…Carla are you okay?"

She had began repeatedly pacing back and forth in front of that one spot, her hands gently grazing the counter as she contemplated the lost of control. Everything that Carla had felt earlier, the panic and anxiety was rushing back. She couldn't stop looking at the dessert even as the bile rose in her throat. Finger over lips, Carla shook her head in anguish. Maybe just one little bite to shut Paul up...It had to stop bothering her, he had to stop bothering her; everything that was threatening her could be summed up in that single pie right then. It had to disappear, if she could make it vanish then maybe the flowers would too.

But she was terrified; terrified that her true feelings would give way and with them she would lose the power that writing this Memoir had given her. He had threatened her, the flowers were only the beginning. It was too much to handle, that she might not be able to control aspects of the story she had to share about Liam with the world; with an array of options on how she chose to tell it and what details she could divulge into while also keeping other things to herself. That little phone call tonight was a reminder that Carla wasn't as powerful as she thought she was. It was a reminder that she could never truly enjoy the success of the Memoir when others were around to constantly remind Carla that nothing written on paper changed the fact that she did not have control over the actual events within themselves. She didn't have control...

"Carla?" Paul whispered again, "Carla, what is wrong?"

In a rush, almost in tears she snatched the spoon up once again plunging it into the thick piece of apple pie. Shoving mouthfuls upon mouthfuls into her mouth she was unable to stop that sick feeling forming of her insides resisting wanting to keep it all out. It had to disappear and she removed herself from the feeling as the teeth smashed down on the food, grinding at times or almost swallowing whole at others. The sound of the plate smashing against cutlery into the kitchen sink brought Carla to again.

"Carla?"

Shoving past Paul, staring through him like he didn't exist, Carla rushed down the hallway before he could stop her. Locking herself in the bathroom glancing between the toilet and the sink, hating herself for every moment she messed up and lost control.

They had been so happy earlier. What a difference a few hours could make.

* * *

He had almost backed out of the petty passive aggressiveness The anger had calmed Paul after cutting up all the pieces and then those flowers came. Beautiful blood red roses and they were not from him. He read the note and his eyes slowly moved down the hallway looking at the bathroom, Paul basically felt exhausted with the marriage. Years ago he had thought she might be having an affair, but it was only ever a feeling. He couldn't know for certain. That's why he laughed inside during therapy. He fondly remember the first time he stood up for his feelings back then.

"…_Now do you want to remember it or do you want to forget? Your marriage depends on it…"_

_"No, I don't want to forget doctor...she is supposed to love me and only me. This isn't all of my fault"_

It broke his heart to know that she could love others. It broke his heart when he read the memoir and it had nothing to do with the past, everyone has a past. This was all about the present. After all Paul had done for her, she could still be in love now with somebody else. Carla was hiding his identity and Paul didn't understand why, when the man in the memoir seemed intent on ruining their life.

He shuddered just reading the words on the card the first time around but forced himself to do so again:

_Sweetheart,_

_You've looked absolutely beautiful for the whole of this press tour. I missed you so much along the way but I will be patient. We may have to wait a while until we can be together for good, but when we are it will be worth the wait._

_M. xx_

"M," Paul whispered just glaring at the note. Whomever this M was he had a sinking suspicion it was somehow code for the man in memoir. The person was so obviously gloating rubbing it in that he had been Carla's first love and revelling in the secrets which protected him. Therefore Paul made it his mission to unveil his identity and bring the cocky piece of shit down. But it was obvious Paul would have to do it without Carla's help. Marching into the main area just near the door, Paul picked up his carry work bag unzipping it and pulling the Memoir out. He had read the damn thing so many times, but he would read it again and approach its pages differently this time around. There had to be a slip up in there somewhere inside and just so he didn't miss anything he would get a second set of eyes in his father Barry. No one was going to break apart his family and damn everyone to hell if some stupid selfish boy from the past thought he could trap Carla. Paul was her husband, he was the only one capable of ending this insane and unusual love triangle once and for all.


	3. Chapter 3

"You didn't tell me. I wish you would have…I wish you would have told me…been honest with me…couldn't you have just been honest with me?"

His blue eyes were flooded with tears, his sight made blurry as he glanced around his hotel room clutching the armrest of a nearby chair. Liam felt sick, like he was going to puke. He couldn't even speak of it, the betrayal was so deep, too much to handle, as his eyes lay transfixed on the book in front of him. It was the bane of his existence. The mobile could barely stay in his hands as they were that clammy and sweaty.

The Memoir was called _'Redefining Carla'_. Its dust jacket could be summed up in a few simple and generic catchphrases about 'redefining yourself through your own lens' and 'choosing yourself'. Meant to inspire of course, they had the opposite effect on him…

Maybe it was because it all resonated with him so deeply; the fact that the more you begin to delve into the past the more you start to wonder just how much you've actually really changed. And it irritates you, it brings you down into deep dark places because you would have never had had any doubts about how far you've come as an individual or any questions about the content of your character unless you hadn't been forced to read _your own_ past through someone else's eyes. And it's hard to handle; someone else's recollections of you etched in ink with such finality and assumptions that they are words of truth; when the reality is that everything about this Memoir is just page upon just page upon page of legend like retellings of what was in all actuality just a silly immature teenage love affair.

_A silly immature teenage love affair_…

Liam stopped himself then, jumbled in his thoughts because he knew this much wasn't true. He had seen her again for the first time in a long time tonight. And it was like everything he had felt back then came rushing back. She had this effect on him, always changing things within him, outside of him, shaping his world and reluctantly pulling him in directions he did not wish to go. He was powerless because his heart was bursting at the seams; remembering things that hurt too much, old wounds searing open and flowing into emotions that had no limits. It was her who had made them out to be a silly immature love affair with this book and it hurt.

She had embellished things meant to stay secret between them, cheapening things, making stuff out to be something that was entirely his fault. She had had a free for all with their past. It angered him because the readers didn't know and she obviously didn't care how she told their history or who she hurt. Sometimes legends make for a good reality, they become more useful than the facts; he got it…she needed to sell books and everyone loves a good story about an underdog, so in a way Liam could understand why she wrote it all down.

He had known her better than any else back then; in the time which all these pages keep on recollecting, back when they both had wanted to escape things and people, and realities about themselves; he understood how sometimes it became a habit to lie. Sometimes it was easier and it could be something hard to quit when you didn't even realize you were doing it. They had been like that back then; they had tried to hold onto all those child like fantasies about what they were, thinking themselves something legendary and like their feelings had been so unique. But when legends die, the dreams end; there is no greatness left. This fact must have been much harder for her to accept and to grow into than it was for him. Liam could not excuse it though. Betraying their past had only opened his eyes to new betrayals and unlike Carla he was mature enough to realized that in growing up a person no longer had the luxury of telling themselves and others the same old stories over again in hopes for forgetting it was all a lie. A story couldn't erase the truth.

If it had only been a simple and small betrayal that she committed then maybe he could find it in his heart to forgive her one day. But this wasn't just a simple betrayal, this was _**their daughter**_ and this memoir; if one could even call it such a thing, was a just a bunch of stories Carla told herself over and over again to forget her betrayals…a transparent justification for this one lie. She had no right to keep this from him…their daughter who apparently from the pages of the memoir had his eyes. And now this is all he knew of her because of Carla's lies. As far as Liam was concerned she had no right to any of these lies anymore. It made him so emotional; this whole situation just tore open old and festering wounds. For every lie unlearned Liam knew you learned something new. The doctor told him that Maria's future was one where she'd never be able to give him any children. He had been ready to face the possibility of a future where he'd never be a father, so imagine how it would feel then to learn that this was all wrong, that he was already one…_a father_…this word so foreign to Liam, kept ringing in his ears.

"I wish you had just been honest with me," Liam repeated this time finding footing and true strength in the limits of what a human voice could convey. Harnessing all his hatred into this one statement, it was his intent that she knew just how much every part of him loathed her beyond comprehension. He wanted the message to sink in loud and clear and for every syllable to make its impact until the weight of his words brought her world crumbling down. She deserved no less in his mind, his hate was manifesting like a disease threatening to consume him and it very well could but Liam did not care so long as it destroyed her first. The feelings coursing through his body became overwhelming. Clutching his mobile, Liam shifted against the hotel wall, "I-I…" he trailed off too drunk and physical broken down it was impossible to string anymore words together.

" I really don't know what to say about it, " she whispered back taking this momentarily lapse in silence to finally spit out those first words and pitiful first words they were. Nothing about her voice in this moment was the way he imagined it would be. It wasn't full of any of the explanations or excuses for things he was yet to ask. Instead it seemed dead on arrival, preparing to take a verbal beating and hoping that in doing so, this would somehow make up for things. Well she was wrong, "Liam…Liam—" she was more nervous than concerned and it sickened him even more.

"—You're just as soulless and selfish as ever," the anger finally erupted and words spilled out of him effortlessly as he tried to fight back tears. Gnashing at his teeth, Liam used his free hand to pull at his hair in anguish. His closed his eyes and regretted it instantly as images of his baby girl transpired out of thin air. His mind was trying helplessly to get down to a tee, every angle of her… the way Carla had described holding her…he wanted the feelings to come with the images. Liam wanted to be the one holding her and though he had read that one passage over and over again, nothing he could conjure up in his mind would match the reality. It was so frustrating because he couldn't help but in imagining things but what really struck his core was that fatherhood did not come to him immediately. As a concept he knew this news should make him feel completely different inside, parenthood was supposed to change you…he felt the same almost and it hurt so much. It was like a deficiency, he was deficient as a human being because the feelings did not just flow and come naturally. It was shameful and he would never admit to anyone that this was how he felt. Liam wanted to die and with him that little piece of her that clearly still etched for his affections and approval, "Do you hear me?" Liam raged as she sunk deeper and deeper into silence in shock over his words, "Do you hear me when I say that you are one manipulative soulless and selfish human being?"

"…Stop. I already told you I made a mistake…I made a mistake, Liam but it was—"

"—I'm not talking about _**that**_and you know it," his voice was ice cold, tears drying up on his cheeks as he gained more confidence and plowed on, "It's not _**that**_ so don't you dare make what you've done about_** that**_!"

"What is it about then?" her voice was shaking, scared even though they weren't physically in the same room he could feel every part of her shaking underneath his scrutinizing presence," W-what is it about then Liam? What is about?"

"If you didn't think I was good enough to be a father—"

"—But I did, I did," she strained for air; clearing the throat this particular accusation seemed to strike a chord deep within her. It was an attack on her judgment and character that she was anxious to salvage and defend, "I did," she repeated gaining more conviction desperately wanting him to perceive her differently, "I DID!"

"You didn't!" he couldn't stand it, how a person like her could get away with so many lies, how she could convince herself they were true and tell herself anything to sleep better at night. In the spur of the moment he swung around smashing his wine glass of a nearby table. The liquid splattered seeping into the carpet, a blood red mirroring his own hot-blooded emotions, "YOU DIDN'T!" his eyes were slits, seeing red everywhere, ready to smash the suite to pieces at any moment. He should know the type person she was, the type person he was talking to that when confronted with the nature of her faults and deceptions decided to always deflect her selfish decisions. Feeling weak, weak from all her lies like poison coursing through him, Liam sunk to the floor of his hotel suite just near the fireplace. He was tried of fighting; frankly he didn't have enough fight left. Grasping at Maria's copy of the Memoir, Liam clutched it to his chest like a lifeline. There were a few moments in which he unable to do anything but whimper pathetically before breaking into a sobbing whisper and crying, "you didn't…"

"You wouldn't have wanted her. Maybe on the day of, maybe the next…but the day after that, that next_** next**_ day… " Her voice struggled on the other end struggling to put into words justifications, "… You would have looked at her differently. You weren't ready…Liam trust me—"

"—And how the fuck would you know?" Resting his fingers on his temple with his knees supporting his elbows, the heat of the fireplace emitted out into the room. The heat of it touching the surface of his skin but none of the warmth felt. Again his voice broke as he repeated in a whisper, "How would you have known what sort of father I could have been? You didn't even give me a chance."

"You would have resented that chance as soon as you got it and you would only resent _**her**_. The source of love in life often becomes the root of all resentment later; believe me Liam, I know. You would have given up so much and in all your wildest dreams you couldn't imagine the day would come that you'd look at her and be bitter. But trust me it would come, it always comes. You would resent her…"

He couldn't hear this because what it implied was horrible. It showed just how little she thought of him, deep inside the things he always felt about her feelings towards him now confirmed. All she had ever wanted it seemed is for Liam to be as unhappy and miserable as she was. This was so exhausting and more thoughts formed in his mind about her, none of which were good, "Tell me then…am I so hard to love? Am I so hard to love that you would do these things…that you do these things to me?"

"Never. Never!"

He wanted to laugh then, because every word and action has said otherwise. Now Liam had reached the point where he was over this conversation, "I feel sorry for you. I feel sorry that you're so angry at the world that in all attempts to make people love you they only end up hating you—"

"—Liam…"

"It's true," he was smiling uncharacteristically through the remainder of tears, "it's so true. You do it protect _me_ though right… always to protect_ everyone_? And we all only end up hating you for it," laughter was starting come through in all the anger, "I fucking don't even know anymore…"

" Liam…Liam, you don't know anymore about what?" there was silence and panic filled her voice as she repeated pleading with him, "Liam?!"

"Who you are. I don't think I've ever known. I think you're a lie and I don't care how many copies of that Memoir are saying otherwise, I've read what people are saying…they are so sympathetic to what _**you did**_, but I laugh because they don't know…"

"What don't they know?" her voice grew strong at the insult; she could never take the insults.

"What you are. They don't what you are. They'll defend because they don't know my side of things and you know what let them, let those sympathetic reviewers spew their shit but they fucking don't know…," he trailed off again sure that this would be the last time he ever spoke to her again. Wanting her to know that from this day forward she had absolutely no affect on him and no longer mattered he muster with great conviction letting syllable ring loud and clear, "…you know what? It doesn't matter anymore," sighing he added, "it doesn't matter because…," she gasped holding her breath preparing for the final blow, none of the quivering had any effect on him. She was dead to him from this day forward, dead, "…because you don't matter anymore."

This was enough; he had successfully broken her. There were a few moments were Liam could her here moving the phone away trying to conceal the breakdown through muffled sounds and exhausted breathing. But none of it work and he was glad because now she would realize how much her actions had ruined him. And he hoped every moment of her existence for this day forward hurt so badly with the knowledge that she could never have him, that she'd be cast out of his kindness and warmth forever. Liam hoped every part of her desiccated and wasted away like the rotten soulless trash she was.

"…You're breaking my heart. Liam you are breaking my heart. Did you call just to break my heart."

"All I ever do is break _your_ heart. It seems I was born to break your heart and no others, and good. I hope every part of you breaks," he spat emotion ever coming his body again, "I hope you are ruined…because you ruined me. The difference is I'm not going to spend years reliving this. And now you'll finally knows how it feels—"

"—I think I should hang up now," she whispered feebly another croak in the windpipe still trying to win his approval, "that's what I'm going to do. I'm gonna hang up—"

There were many things he thought about Carla and for all his anger with her and the betrayal of this Memoir; Liam had to admit it had been good for one thing. Finally he was exposed to a truth he could no longer deny as he began to recall all the ways Carla had been manipulated against him, how he had been fashioned into something so completely hard to love. Like she had done with his own father before him; Liam's mother Helen Connor had went out of her way to ruin the potential of any relationship between Liam and his daughter. She had known all along of the child's existence but never mention a single word after all these years, even when Liam and was despondent over the possibility of Maria having no children. But he had confronted her tonight and he saw the same old patterns and excuses. Helen went about her life alienating everyone and everything she claimed to love. It was though her only intent in life was to make everyone as unhappy as she was. All those years ago when he she manipulated his feelings, making Carla out to be beneath him, making it seem like family was the only thing that mattered…it sickened Liam. He did not know his mother; he never knew his mother and he decided then as she played up her victim act on the other end of the phone that he never wanted to know her again.

"—Good," Liam said the tears leaving he was left with a voice only mocking and bitter, " You fucking do that. That's a fucking good idea. I think probably the best idea you've had in years…in all your life."

He would never speak to her again but Liam didn't care because as he glanced down at the Memoir he felt perhaps now she would learn how it feels to be kept from the child you love. Many of the reviews online were full of people applauding Helen and Sharon for helping Carla make such a difficult decision. Calling her things like mother of the year and doing it for her sons benefit as well Carla's. It was a nice little spin and his mother would surely appreciate these views. But no matter how many stories she'd tell herself over and over again trying to justify her reasons and forget her lies; Liam hoped that she'd never forget the biggest lie of all…that she somehow every did any of this for love. And he hoped his mother felt emptiness like the emptiness he was feeling right now. He hoped that it was worth it because all his life people had admired Helen Connor's strength in her decisions…her conviction.

He really hoped it was worth it because all the admiration in the world can never fill the place where love is supposed to go…especially the love of a child.

And now she had lost her own sons love forever.


End file.
